Identity
by bikkothewriter
Summary: "There is no life for him, for us, like this." "Then I will make one." For three years J has kept his promise, but old age is taking its toll and he must both convince and rely on Duo to pick up where he's left off.


Title: Identity

Author: bikkothewriter

Pairings: 2x1, past 2xH

Warnings: Yaoi, slight Het, Lemon, Angst, Language, OOC, psychobabble

Disclaimer: I don't own it, but man, I love it.

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Prologue

He moved down the hall with a single-minded determinedness. He tried to ignore the chaos that lay before him stretching out like a scene from a surreal horror movie that only fueled his fear. The lights above him flickered, shedding harsh fluorescent light on the blood stained hallway before plunging him back into darkness. He maneuvered around the broken lab equipment tossed through the hall like broken toys and the bodies that lay moaning beside them. A part of him wanted to stop, to help the wounded but if he didn't stop the threat there would be no hope for any of them.

The steel doors to the women's locker room were torn from their hinges the metal frame bent and in some places snapped in two. For a moment he questioned as to what sort of monster could have done this, then remembered that he was the one to create him. He shook the thought away and took a deep breath. This may be the last chance he had to set things right; doubting now would be pointless. He surged forward, following the sound of running water and a painful keening, barely glancing at the trail of blood and twisted lockers that followed the same course.

He was there, curled up in the farthest corner of the open shower steaming water raining over him. He was a sight. Fresh blood seeped from open wounds along his arms and legs swirling down the drain in a twisted tableau that had his teeth on edge and his stomach ready to revolt. He'd seen worse, yes, but this scared thing in a blue and green dress, crying and cringing was his prodigy and he was sick to think that he may be too late.

He threaded the water carefully, making just enough noise not to surprise the other man and not be considered threat. When he was within arm's length he shut off the water and the boy reacted, jerking against the tile as if slapped. He lowered his arms revealing a face lined with angry, red gouges. The clinical part of his brain noted that the wounds were self-inflicted while the baser part of him said to move away from the snarling man. A weaker man would have run from the bared teeth, the thinned lips, and cruel, blue eyes but he remained calm.

"Heero." His voice was low and soft as he spoke, his hands held out in a nonthreatening gesture. The boy stared at him panting through his noise, his entire body trembling with barely restrained rage. "Heero, my boy, do you know who I am?"

The boy scrubbed his fist across his face, smearing blood across his skin as he did. For a moment he looked as if he would attack, then the tension disappeared and he looked up at him his face softening into a perplexed expression.

"My boy?" His voice was soft, lilting, and so different from Heero's normal speaking voice. The boy tried to smooth his wet and tangled mess of hair with a strangely self-conscious air. "That's cruel, Ojiisan."

He didn't question the misplaced honorific more concerned with soft timbre of Heero's voice, the slow, delicate way he moved as he drew his legs up, wrapping his arms around his thighs. He seemed frail and oddly innocent as he rested his head against his knees. The demure act and the sleeveless dress began to take shape his mind painting a picture that J was reluctant to accept.

"I'm happy you're here," Heero said gently. "I know you'll make everything alright."

"What will I make right?" He moved closer as he spoke, stopping just feet from the other man.

"Everything," came the whispered response as Heero, or the softer version of Heero, stared at him with sad, helpless eyes. He knelt in the blood-tinged water, ignoring the shiver that went up his spine as the water soaked into his pants. He reached across the small space separating them, pressing the bare tips of his fingers to Heero's cheek.

"What happened?"

Touching the boy was a mistake he realized belatedly as the boy's open expression shut down, hardening into a vicious glare.

"Why the fuck are you in my space old man?"

He jerked at the sudden change in personality and hostility, taking his hand back. The other man gathered himself together, straightening his shoulders, lifting his head. Hard eyes regarded J with no hint of recognition or care. Dissociative Identity Disorder, his brain supplied as he leaned out of the other man's reach. While not an expert in mental disorders, he knew he was in a precarious situation. He was no longer dealing with Zero One, Heero Yuy, his prodigy but an unknown number of potentially dangerous personalities. This was the third change in less than five minutes and at any moment the side of Heero that tore through the lab leaving a path of destruction could resurface.

"Heero?"

The other man snorted. "Are you slow old man? Heero's long gone."

"Gone where?"

"How the fuck would I know? I'm not his keeper." The other man all but spat at him as he shifted getting to his knees. J ignored his attempts to rip the dress from his body, more focused on the bloody knife revealed by Heero's move. Was this personality to blame for the blood and destruction painting the halls of his lab, he questioned.

"Don't even think about it old man. That's mine." Heero's glare was hard and unflinching and not diminished by the two fisted grip he had on the wet fabric. He gave up on ripping it instead reaching back to pull the fabric over his head. Somewhere in that move J noticed the tension go out of the other man's body, the raw, charged energy evaporating in less than a second. When the dress was clear the other man sank onto his haunches with bent shoulders and a bowed head.

"Heero?"

Hopeless eyes regarded him from underneath a fringe of dark hair and J knew this man was also not Heero. He looked to the knife with those same hopeless eyes, reaching for it with long thin fingers. He palmed the knife, slowly dragging the hilt across the tile in a precise arc. There was something in the way he moved, the deliberate slowness, the way he kept the blade pointed towards himself and the hilt at J that worried him more than any of the others he'd encountered so far.

Heero spoke with a voice filled with despair and resignation, holding the knife out to J. "I know you'll do the right thing."

"Are you asking me to kill you?"

He nodded. "He's seen too much. The pain…it's unbearable."

"Give me a chance to help him."

The other man shook his head slowly. "I would do it myself but they won't let me."

Heero jerked violently to the side, his face twisting in anger. "I'm not ready to die, you morbid bastard!"

J watched the expression melt away; disconcerted by the rapid and violent change, as the forlorn Heero reemerged. His arm rose offering the knife. "End this, J."

As sure that death was the only option as the other man seemed to be, J could not accept it. His mind raced with possibilities, solutions. Heero was in pain and J could not and would not turn his back on him. Regrettably, guilt played a large part in his decision, but there was love as well. Heero was the closest thing he had to son and for all his faults he was proud of the boy, proud of the man that he had become. He would fix this mess, like he would a damaged and broken microchip; with careful work and diligent patience. He'd once done nothing but bring pain to Heero's life; he wanted to be the one to help take it away.

With that resolve he met the other man's gaze and his knowing frown.

"There is no life for him, for us, like this."

"Then I will make one."


End file.
